


The Eye of the Beholder

by thewriterinpink



Series: Abridged Thiefshipping Long Fics [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series, Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types
Genre: Abridged Characters, Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Kidnapping, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Murder, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Names, Riding, Rimming, Scars, Seduction, Slavery, Strangers to Lovers, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-05 18:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterinpink/pseuds/thewriterinpink
Summary: Marik, who is a pirate, is contracted to kidnap Bakura, a socialite with enough pissed off people after him to want him gone. Although not interested at first, Marik changes his mind when he realizes the danger Bakura truly is in if someone else gets the job instead... and also how frigging beautiful Bakura is. Once meeting, they get off on the wrong foot, but eventually grow closer. They find they might just be more similar than they first thought and love blossoms between them.





	The Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> People seemed to really like the other Abridged Thiefshipping story I wrote, so I felt compelled to post this also. 
> 
> I'll warn that there's a strange scene in here where they fuck while Marik describes a murder. I blame Bakura for that one. It's in the second sex scene so you can skip if you don't want to see that.

Marik had read somewhere that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. It was a remarkable quote for a pirate to carry around. He'd think it when stuffing jewels, gold and other worth in the bags to be carted off to be hidden where no one would find them. These riches were considered universally beautiful, everyone craved them, but Marik didn't much find beauty in them. He pillaged them simply because that was what a pirate did. He found nothing of value past that. Once you had so many of them at your fingertips, they tended to lose their lustre. 

 

After all, as a pirate above the law, he didn't really need any money to get by or to flaunt it around as the high society did. He'd just pull out his gun, maybe shoot someone to show he meant business, and everyone fell to their knees before him. There was more beauty in that than what he could or couldn't afford. 

 

That didn't mean he never wore any of his prizes. If there was a fancy broach or ring or neckless he happened to like, Marik would doll himself up with it. Something expensive on him commanded respect and proved his capabilities. Not to mention he looked frigging great in them. Some luxuries could be indulged; whatever he saw beauty in, he'd take and make his own. That was what his business had become and he liked it like that. 

 

But this led to a sudden predicament. Even though he was very much a pirate and had many forms of government after his beautiful backside, he had found himself with a little kidnapping assignment some lowlife wanted out of him. Marik had wanted to turn the roach down as he only did what he wanted and he was certainly not interested in kidnapping people, but what he was being offered in return had given him pause. 

 

The man, skeevy as any other flea-bitten scoundrel around these parts, had given Marik full control to 'have at it' with the person he wanted to get rid of. Apparently, he just wanted the person gone and out of everyone's life, no questions asked. He was planning to pay a handsome sum to have it be done as well. 

 

"Discreetly, if you will," the man had said in a hoarse voice. "I don't want no word about this exchange getting out. Plenty lose their heads trying to take out a socialite. Capeesh?" 

 

Marik had got it, of course. This type of business was risky, though it wasn't the risk that usually kept Marik out of such affairs. He simply wasn't interested and he still wouldn't have been interested if the man hadn't slid a folded piece of paper across the wooden bar table, leaning back in his chair with a heavy gulp of his drink. 

 

Marik had frowned then, taking the paper between his fingers and pulling the two sides apart. What was revealed to him was a painting of a man around Marik's own age, with aristocratic pale skin, white hair and dark brown eyes that seemed to pop out against such a pale complexion. He would look angelic if not for the smirk tilting the lips up like he was sharing a secret of mirth between himself and the viewer. Marik froze, rapidly blinking eyes the only sign of movement.

 

"Piece of shit on my shoe, that one. If ya get rid of him, it would be better for all of us, let me tell ya."

 

Beauty, Marik had truly known then, was definitely in the eye of the beholder. 

 

And now he was here hours later, stumped over what had come over him to agree to something like this. Sure, the job itself wasn't too hard. This Florence fellow, as he discovered his name was, was on the lower side of high society, but still the type to get rodents like his client angry enough to want to sell him off to pirates. Vaguely, Marik wondered what the man had done, but it didn't really matter. The lower dwellers like this guy probably didn't need much coaxing in deciding to off Florence. Marik himself didn't enjoy the company of socialities either and killed many with his own hands. 

 

Which was exactly why his decision to kidnap Florence for his own good seemed preposterous. The man was probably stuck up and posh, not to mention raised on anti-pirate ideology all his life. The chance such a man would have anything in common with him was so unlikely it was laughable. Still, Marik couldn't ignore whatever feeling was telling him to save the man from further doom. It was obvious to Marik that if he didn't pick up this job, someone much worse would. That was how the world of the underground turned. There was always someone there willing to do the dirty work and with something as broad as 'do what you like' it was obvious Florence was in an even worse amount of danger from these people. 

 

Marik was dangerous too, but at least he had his priorities straight. He wasn't a rapist and didn't main or torture or kill for fun. Those were just a few of the things Marik suspected anyone else would do to Florence. 

 

Marik sighed and set his men on the course to where Florence was. Since he already accepted this job, he might as well fulfill it. 

 

* * *

 

Kidnapping Florence was better said than done, Marik discovered. Something the older man hadn't thought to tell Marik was that Florence knew self-defence. The sharp knife pointing at Marik's jugular was proof of this. 

 

Florence's eyes were as sharp as his knife, narrowed dangerously in the light of the moon that was draping through a large open window. He was wearing his night clothes, a soft blue shirt and shorts, a bit puffy at the edges. That coupled with the blue slippers made it almost impossible for Marik to take the situation seriously even though he knew he should. 

 

But his mind army was just a mind link away. Marik knew he had nothing to worry about while the rich man before him had everything against him, including things he had yet to discover. Someone wanted him dead and it wasn't the man sneaking around Florence's vast room with the plan to kidnap him. 

 

"Who," the socialite started, words a hiss between clamped teeth, "are you?"

 

Marik eyed Florence a few seconds, his hands outstretched by his head, but then he smiled the way he knew made men and women alike swoon without him needing to pull his weight around. It mostly worked here; Florence faltered with a small exhale of breath, but his stance stayed the same. Impressive. 

 

"I'm Marik," Marik said pleasantly. "Someone has hired me to kidnap you." He had no reason to lie over his intentions. 

 

Florence huffed through his nose, tossing his head to direct long hair back over his shoulder. Said hair looked softer in person and Marik had the odd urge to stroke it. His fingers rubbed unconsciously against each other as he stared. 

 

"Like bloody hell that will happen! I've earned my place here and I'm not about to lose it to you!" He suddenly swiped the knife forward, but Marik took a huge step back, curiously tilting his head to one side even as Florence growled at him in frustration. 

 

"You mean you weren't born this way?" Well, if that was the case it could explain the hatred his client had for Florence. Maybe they had known each other before then. 

 

Florence didn't answer, eyes heated and furious with cold resentment. The look was nothing like the painting in Marik's pocket but wasn't any less attractive. Marik bit his lip and decided to be even more honest. 

 

"I only took this job so someone worse couldn't take it. I wasn't planning to do you any further harm than kidnapping you. My client just wants you gone from this position, he didn't say what to do after." 

 

Florence sneered, but he did take Marik's words in, looking as though he was thinking hard about something. 

 

"If that was true," he finally spat, sounding very much like he didn't believe Marik one bit, "then you would be implying you've come to rescue me. A whole load of rubbish that'll do. I'm being hunted left and right these days. I'll be found again wherever I go." 

 

"Then come with me," Marik said quickly, knowing an opening when he saw one. "I'm a pirate and I have a whole crew. We're always on the move. Problem solved!" 

 

"That's just giving in!" Florence snapped back. Marik noticed the knife had fallen to Florence's side, forgotten in his aggravation. He put down his hands, sliding one to his back pocket where the mysterious mind control device he was gifted always rested. He let Bakura continue. "They want me dead because I've risen from the sewers and have become what they despise. I'd rather continue to live a good life and take my chances with defeating any other kidnapper who tries to ruin this, including y—" 

 

Florence abruptly stopped talking as Marik pulled the amulet from his pocket and held it out where Bakura could see its purple unnatural glow. Florence's eyes glazed over and he was out like a light instantly, standing idly before Marik. 

 

Marik placed the amulet back in his pocket and hoisted the dazed socialite in his arms, walking to the window. As always he hadn't needed his mind slaves to finish this job; they were more there for image than any other purpose. What type of pirate captain didn't have a crew? 

 

He called the crew back to the ship and followed suit, marvelling at how light the man in his arms was. A pool of drool was already beginning to slide down his chin as he dozed. Marik smirked and gently closed the man's mouth. 

 

His skin was soft. 

 

* * *

 

Bakura woke to a lurching feeling in his stomach and curled in on himself. He turned over and hurled over the edge of the bed he was lying on, watching blankly as the contents of his stomach hit the wooden floor below. He stared, feeling the world around him tilt and it took him a few moments before he realized it wasn't in his head. The room was moving.  

 

 _A ship,_ he realized after awhile of dazed thinking that yielded very little for most of it, _I'm on a bloody ship_. 

 

The memory of how he got here was fuzzy; he straight up didn't remember travelling here at all, but he did remember the face of a man who claimed to be a pirate despite looking very little like one. 

 

 _After all,_ Bakura thought with a brief scowl, _pirates are supposed to be ugly._  

 

He had somehow been kidnapped without his knowledge. He couldn't remember it, but maybe he had been knocked out? If that was the case then that pirate was quicker than he seemed. 

 

There wasn't much he could do now. They were probably far out at sea and Bakura didn't have the will or any interest in commandeering the ship. He was stuck like this.

 

For now. 

 

* * *

 

Marik, the pirate, was at the helm of the ship. So he was the one making Bakura's stomach refuse to keep anything down. It seemed like a natural progression from their first meeting. Bakura sneered. 

 

The man was pretty even from all the way over where Bakura stood near the entrance for below the deck. His blond hair was pulled into a low ponytail that led down his back, his brown skin was strongly tanned from the sun but not burnt, unusually purple eyes squinted against the rising sun; bright and expressive, his features were soft instead of mean and rough, and his lips were far too pink and full. 

 

If he was a pirate then their reputation of being unhygienic pigs with little morals seemed far from reality. The fantasy of the people who lived mostly on land or was Marik the exception? Looking to the crew working around the ship held the same; they looked normal, an average person Bakura would see on the street. Not at all like the stories. 

 

But, of course, average did not mean any less deadly. All of these men were armed, Bakura knew enough about that to see it on them. Luckily, they would most likely only harm him if Marik commanded them and if Marik's promise of doing nothing to him was not false that would never happen either. 

 

Bakura made the slow trek to Marik's side, grimacing as the boat lurched and groaned. Was this really what it was like out here? Bakura much preferred land. 

 

Marik noticed Bakura before he made it fully to him, his face lighting up even further than it already had been. The man had knocked Bakura out and forced him on a ship he didn't want to be on, but you wouldn't know by just looking at him. You would swear the two of them were _best friends,_ not strangers. How ridiculous. 

 

"Florence, you're finally awake! I tried to wake you up earlier, but you just went back to sleep. I guess you were more affected by travel than I thought." 

 

Bakura narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

 

"How did I get here?"

 

Marik shrugged, looking out into the sea. 

 

"How do you think you got here?"

 

Bakura scowled at the clear avoidance of his question.

 

"You hypnotized me," Bakura said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

 

Marik was staring at him, mouth slightly open. It pressed at Bakura's patience. 

 

"What?"

 

"N-Nothing," Marik stuttered, looking quickly away. "I had one of my crew members sneak up on you while you were talking to me and push a pressure point, knocking you out." 

 

"A distraction," Bakura snarled, hands curling painfully. "Of course." 

 

Marik made a noncommittal sound. The boat lurched again and Bakura put a hand to his mouth, forgetting his ire for the moment to moan instead. Marik's head whipped back up at him and he frowned worriedly. 

 

"I'm sorry. Seasickness is common among the folk who've never been out here like this before. I promise within the few days it'll pass." 

 

Bakura wouldn't be having this problem if Marik hadn't kidnapped him. 

 

"Where are you taking me, you fiend?"

 

Marik frowned further at the insult but said nothing of it. 

 

"Nowhere in particular. For now, you go where I go."

 

"Great," Bakura muttered sourly. 

 

"Do you want anything to eat? It's almost breakfast. The head chef should probably be done cooking it." 

 

Bakura nodded his compliance. It wouldn't do to starve himself after all. He'd push passed this sickness as he did with everything else in his life. 

 

Marik pulled his hands off the wheel and moved away. Another man moved to take Marik's spot without a verbal command. Bakura couldn't help but admire that. It made it look like Marik had full control and power over this ship, including his needs being met by the crew under him. They all looked like they knew exactly what to do no matter the occasion. 

 

"Come on," Marik called over his shoulder as he left the deck. "The meals are this way. I promise they'll be fit for a prince." 

 

* * *

 

His soft pink lips clamped over his fork before pulling back. His pink tongue darted out to lick over his fork as his lips parted from it. His slim fingers smoothed around the edge of the glass by his plate as he chewed. 

 

Marik could watch him forever. He was captivated by every small _something_ that Florence did and he suddenly realized all at once that this was a very bad idea. 

 

Florence sipped from his glass of water, pale throat moving noticeably with every swallow. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks when his eyes closed. 

 

Marik was  _enthralled._ He'd never been in the company of anyone so beautiful before. Never been in anyone's real company for quite awhile. He didn't know how to handle it. 

 

Florence looked at him over the rim of his glass, half-lidded and oddly inviting, and Marik felt heat course through his entire body. He was lost for breath.

 

Then—

 

"What do you plan to do with me? You couldn't be 'helping' me out of the good of your heart. You're a scoundrel."

 

Marik coughed, breaking out of his bizarre stupor and shaking his head. 

 

"Um, well, you don't know me, so..."

 

Florence stared very hard at him, but Marik knew he wouldn't find anything. Unless he knew of the painting Marik had hidden in his side table in his bedroom, Florence had absolutely no trail he could follow. 

 

"You have no further plans." He scoffed out a disbelieving laugh. "You kidnap me and expect me to accept such a half-arsed excuse. You must be joking." 

 

"Look, I don't—" Marik tried to find a way to explain his motives without actually attempting to explain the weird feeling in his belly. 

 

Florence threw down his napkin, glaring daggers through Marik. 

 

"Enough! The first town we get to you'll leave me there. I have no need for you. Not only can I take care of myself, but my new life has to be preserved! I don't care how many people want me killed or worse! And you have no say in any of this! Bugger off!!!" 

 

Marik blinked stupidly as Bakura left the dining room. He stared down at his own plate and sighed, realizing he'd been too engrossed in Florence to eat and now his breakfast had grown cold and soggy. The heavy atmosphere Florence left behind was broken when his plate was replaced with a new one, warm and delicious. 

 

Having mind slaves could as least curve some of the displeasure of being yelled at and dismissed by such a beautiful man. 

 

* * *

 

Once Bakura was alone with his thoughts, trying to ignore his upset stomach, he allowed himself to really take in the situation. 

 

If Marik was to be taken at face value, someone from his old life had wanted him taken out of the picture and didn't care what that person did to him afterward. Considering all the horrible things Bakura did before, he had plenty of bad people who probably wanted him dead. Logically, he recognized, if only to himself, that he would not be able to protect himself for long. If this client had been persistent enough, man after man would have barrelled down Bakura's door. Eventually, after so many close calls, even he would lose this fight.

 

He could be... grateful, maybe, that Marik had been the first the client had gone to or at least the first to accept the job. This outcome might annoy him, but it meant no one was after him anymore. The only problem was that meant he was in hiding and not living the life he had worked hard to get. It really did feel like he was giving in like this; proving all his hard work was for nothing. All the scheming and backstabbing and sweet talking, just to get a good life in this God forsaken hell hole they called human society. The jealousy others had after his big triumph was kicking him back straight to the literal curb. 

 

And a pirate of all people! Out of all the men to be chosen for this task, a pirate seemed a little too expensive. They were free creatures whose only goal was more treasure. How much had been on his head for Marik to consider him? Pirates didn't just do any task given to them; in fact, they'd rather not follow any task at all. They were self-centred beings; only looking out for their own wants. 

 

Not that Bakura could blame them. He was the same way. Still, that begged the question. Bakura had seen the jewelry Marik wore but hadn't seen much else on the ship. Of course, maybe it was hidden elsewhere, maybe Marik's room held more to discover, but the way Marik spoke about his decision to kidnap him, Bakura read more there than just riches and greed. If that were the case, Bakura would have considered buying himself out of this mess from the start. He had plenty of his own riches to spare. 

 

No, there was something else here, something obvious in the way Marik spoke to him or regarded him. Bakura had caught him staring closely at Bakura throughout their meal; he hadn't even touched his own. Bakura wasn't stupid and recognized the signs of someone finding him attractive. 

 

And there it was. He was attractive, of course. He hadn't gotten to where he was on cunning alone; his looks had equally helped him along his path. The client who had hired Marik might have revealed Bakura's appearance and he had found Bakura attractive enough to act, therefore deciding to save his hide. 

 

Meaning, if he was right, maybe he could get more out of this trip than he thought. He had never coaxed a pirate to his will before, but the idea was very enticing. Besides, he would never be this lucky as to be kidnapped by someone half as attractive as Marik was again. Might as well exploit that. 

 

* * *

 

"Marik?"

 

Marik's head snapped up. Florence stood beside him, no hostility in his expression. He looked remorseful, a small frown turning his lips downward. Marik had no idea how Florence had managed to sneak up on him; he was usually better than that. 

 

"Uh, yeah? Do you need something, Florence?"

 

Florence shook his head, fingers of one hand digging into the wooden railing of the boat. 

 

"Out here, call me Bakura. Florence is the name for my higher life, not something to be said so easily by a pirate. You taint it."

 

"Sorry," Marik muttered, looking away briefly. 

 

"I wanted to apologize if you would allow it." Marik, shocked, turned his eyes back on Bakura. Bakura smirked with humour. "I am capable of giving out words of sorry, Marik. I needed to be to get where I am today." 

 

"It's my fault anyway," Marik said quickly. "I shouldn't have assumed my decision to do this would be at all favourable to you."

 

"Shut up." Bakura rolled his eyes. "You and I both know this was for my own good. It just took me longer to accept it. I shouldn't have yelled at you as I did. I'm sorry."

 

Marik contemplated that, wondering how a little hour of cool down had somehow changed Bakura's tune so suddenly. Then he smiled, deciding that a more friendly attitude between them could be nothing but good.

 

"It's fine. You had every right to be angry. Let's just put that all in the past and focus on our future." 

 

Bakura nodded. 

 

"Yes, let's."

 

There was a moment of silence as Marik tried to think of something to change the subject with. Bakura abruptly pulled on his arm sleeve, looking at Marik mildly.

 

"Do you plan to keep me in just my night clothes forever or do you have something I could change into? Something that'll blend me better with you."

 

Marik jumped. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed Bakura was still wearing his night clothes. He moved away from the railing, scrambling to get Bakura something different. 

 

"Frig, I'm sorry! Wait here, I'll be right back!"

 

* * *

 

Bakura smoothed out the creases in the white button-up shirt he had been given. After some deliberation, he unbuttoned a few of the buttons at the top, exposing more of his pale chest. If he tilted his body forward, like lean on a table, his nipples and chest could be seen easily down his shirt. Perfect.

 

He rolled up the sleeves and studied the finished product in the wall-length mirror positioned on the back of the door of his borrowed room. The brown pants he had rolled up to the calf seemed a little baggy, but Marik had given him a black sturdy belt in which to keep them up. He had lent Bakura a pair of boots too, but they might have been one size too big as well. Those were black like the belt.

 

He looked good, which was the point. He wouldn't get anywhere if he didn't look his best.

 

The sickness in his belly was finally starting to subside and with that brought a hunger back to the surface. He hadn't eaten much of his breakfast and it was approaching lunch. He would start in on that then. 

 

Bakura decided to head to the kitchen by himself. He didn't need Marik leading him everywhere. Besides, it was easier to figure out his surroundings if he was alone; there was always something useful if you looked hard enough for it. 

 

He passed by a middle-aged man sweeping the floor. It wouldn't have been much of a thing worth noting if it wasn't for the fact he did not move out of Bakura's way when Bakura walked by him. Instead, he tripped Bakura by suddenly sweeping where he had been walking. Bakura stumbled into the wall and caught himself, hair falling in front of his snarling face. 

 

"Hey! Did you bloody do that on purpose?"

 

Nothing. The man didn't say anything or look his way. He was ignoring Bakura. 

 

Bakura pulled away from the wall, slowly running a hand through his hair and grinding his teeth together. Before he could snap a retort at the man while contemplating stabbing him in the gut, Bakura saw his face. It made him falter.

 

The man's face held no emotion or anything to convey that the man was even alive. His eyes looked glazed over and unfocused. It was like he was seeing something Bakura couldn't.

 

Bakura moved closer and waved a hand in front of the man's face. The man didn't blink. Poking at the man gave the same result; he didn't budge or acknowledge Bakura's existence. Instead, he continued the same manual task of sweeping as if no one was with him at all.

 

He looked between the peculiar sight and the hallway. He needed to see if more of Marik's crew were like this, and if they were, what that meant for him. Deciding not to take a detour, Bakura continued his trek to the kitchen, this time for completely different reasons. 

 

The chef and kitchen hands held the same attitude. Not a single one acknowledged Bakura and their dull faces and dazed eyes put him on edge. This was deliberate, this was not some weird thing happening to the crew, Bakura knew it was more than that. Looking back, the crew had always been silent and cooperative; it had almost felt like he and Marik were the only ones on the ship. 

 

They were probably the only ones who knew they were on a ship. This was magic. Dark magic, at that. Bakura had heard of it only in folk tales and legends. He had not thought it real, but now it was staring him hard in the face. 

 

The crew were following Marik without speech or directions; like mindless puppets. Mark had this power. 

 

Which meant...

 

Bakura's nails suddenly dug into his palms as he stared at the lifeless men working hard on the deck to keep things running. Just like the men down below. 

 

If Marik had this power, it stood to reason Marik had used it on him. That he had been mentally manipulated onto the ship. Marik could have done _anything_ in that time and Bakura had no memory of it. None. 

 

Bakura looked around, but Marik wasn't anywhere in his line of sight. There was a door leading to somewhere on the deck and Bakura hadn't been there yet. A bedroom or office, perhaps? Bakura went up to it and slammed his palm as loud as he could. He did it multiple times.

 

"Marik!" 

 

* * *

 

Marik jumped at the sudden intrusion. He had just left Bakura in good terms twenty minutes ago. He had no idea what he could have done in that time to alert Bakura's ire.

 

"I'm going to _kill_ you."

 

Marik grimaced. Composing himself and, after a few beats, grabbing his gun laying on his desk just for precaution, he opened the door.

 

Big mistake.

 

Before Marik could do anything, Bakura pushed at him until his back slammed into his desk chair. He twisted Marik's gun out of his hand and pushed it against Marik's chest, fingers on the trigger. He leaned in, nostrils flaring angrily. 

 

Marik swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

 

"B-Bakura—"

 

"What did you do to me, you sick piece of shite? Do you get off to it or something?"

 

Marik had very little idea on what was happening but tried to reply anyway, wincing at the way his scarred back pushed into the chair and how the gun pushed hard into his ribs. He let out a short, stinted breath. 

 

"I-I, Bakura, I didn't do anything I didn't already explain to—"

 

"Bullshit!" Bakura snarled, pushing himself and the loaded gun further into Marik and the chair. "What do you take me for? You thought you could fool me with a little wave of your magic wand? I won't repeat myself, _what did you do?_ " 

 

The mention of magic made Marik's heart palpitate. With how angry Bakura was, it had to be about his power. Marik's expression grew serious, hoping to convince Bakura he was telling the truth. 

 

"I only put you to sleep. I promise I didn't do or planned to do anything else."

 

Bakura's narrowed eyes surveyed him, searching for any lie in his words.

 

"How can I be sure you're telling the truth? You captured me to this hell on Earth you call a ship and you're a pirate. I have no reason to believe you." 

 

Marik thought about it for a few moments, but he knew if Bakura had come from the slums he had learned not to trust anyone. Marik's words meant nothing to him now that he knew the truth. 

 

"My pocket."

 

"Huh? What are y—"

 

"My pocket holds an amulet. It can hypnotize and manipulate minds if the one who wields it is strong enough. If you don't trust me with it you can hold on to it, but my crew will fall apart without it." 

 

Bakura pulled away, the expression on his face completely perturbed. 

 

"You would do that? Just hand over something so precious just because it made me, a stranger, uncomfortable? I could turn the magic on you. I know I would be strong enough."

 

Marik had no doubt Bakura would be capable, but he didn't at all think Bakura would try. It was a gut feeling. 

 

After a second of silence, Bakura snuck his free hand in Marik's pocket and procured the amulet. He stared at it, turning it over in his hand. 

 

"...You really only made me go unconscious? Nothing to my body was... disturbed." 

 

Marik flinched.

 

"Of course! Why would I ever even think to do that? I specifically kidnapped you so something like that wouldn't happen, remember?"

 

Bakura didn't answer, frowning pensively instead. Then, to Marik's surprise, he handed the amulet and the gun back to Marik who took both back carefully, still expecting Bakura to blow up at him again.

 

Bakura then rose from the chair, stalking his way across the room.

 

"You can keep your toy. I'll stick with skill." 

 

Marik watched him leave, tense and uncertain, but he relaxed when he was ultimately left alone. He pocketed the amulet and placed the gun on his desk. He then leaned his head back against his chair, a long breath escaping passed his lips. 

 

If this was what it was going to be like between them in only several hours, maybe setting Bakura free on land was actually the better option.

 

* * *

 

 A moron. That pirate was a moron.

 

Who handed their power source to a man they had just met? Who handed that over at all? Bakura had been tempted to show Marik a lesson by taking that amulet for himself and wreaking havoc, but in the end it had seemed too easy. Everything down to getting the amulet was too easy and like it or not, Bakura had to admit Marik made a compelling case by doing so. Bakura wouldn't say he trusted Marik, but he did believe Marik incapable of hurting him. Maybe it was something in Marik's eyes, maybe it was wishful thinking. 

 

Maybe it was his cock dictating his brain again. 

 

Whatever it was, it reminded Bakura of his current goal. It would be much more satisfying to seduce Marik to comply with him than playing at Marik's own game. Bakura had almost ruined that with his emotional outburst, not that it hadn't been warranted. Still, he needed to change gears here; get into Marik's head the old fashion way. That way he'd know for sure what type of man Marik was. 

 

It was better than losing his mind on this ship. He'd been here for only half a day and it felt like forever. He wasn't used to being cooped up like this. He needed something to do.

 

Preferably Marik. 

 

It was well known among anyone, even Bakura's more recent company of elitists, that he enjoyed sex as if it was a commodity. Casual sex, let alone the type of sex Bakura took part in, was considered frowned upon. It had been much easier in his slum days to experience the pleasures he wanted to without rich snobs turning their snotty noses up at him. He hadn't much cared for their opinion and finding what he needed was easy, especially now that he had money, but he could acknowledge that, just like the slums before, a place like here probably had no such rules. 

 

It could be compared to paradise. A pirate's life was their life, not society's. They were exempt from public expectations and opinions. 

 

And even though Bakura hadn't been especially nice to Marik, whatever interest Marik had for him hadn't diminished. Bakura hadn't at all missed the way Marik had kept glancing down his shirt when he had confronted Marik, just as had been planned. Marik had been into it, all Bakura had to do was show he was too. 

 

Bakura hated his circumstances, but he could enjoy what was given to him as compensation. it made everything easier to handle. 

 

* * *

 

After that confrontation in his office, Marik hadn't seen Bakura for the rest of the day. He didn't see him that morning either, which had put Marik on edge. Bakura could be planning to overthrow him; he hadn't said he wouldn't, just that he wouldn't do it Marik's way. He should have kept an eye on Bakura. 

 

Instead, he currently kept his eyes trained on the big blue of the ocean. It calmed him immensely looking into its depths. It reminded him why he was out here, from the slave life he had escaped from years ago, the small boy desperate for freedom and to do whatever he wanted. To see whatever he wanted. 

 

To appreciate whatever he wanted. 

 

Marik's gaze slid to what had been moving just out of his view and he bit his lip, letting a slow and deep breath escape out his nose as his eyes took in the surprising sight of Bakura. He had found a spot to sit cross-legged on, a book open on his lap, the noon sun cascading down on him and making his pale skin bright. Marik wondered why he hadn't noticed Bakura sooner, but he had been lost in thought.

 

He had the urge to go over and talk to Bakura, but he still wasn't certain if he was wanted. Keeping his distance was probably the better option. If only he could have convinced his body that. Marik found himself standing in front of Bakura before he had time to warn himself against it. 

 

"Yes?" Bakura asked cooly, not looking up from his book. He turned a page and Marik coughed, struggling to find a reason to be here. 

 

"I... haven't seen you in awhile. You haven't still been sick from the boat, right?"

 

Bakura shook his head. Marik noticed an upturn of lips. It made him relax in quick relief. 

 

"It's been off and on. I suspect it's your own navigating that does it for me, not the boat. I'm not feeling it now after all." 

 

"That's just a coincidence," Marik complained, shoulders slumping. "I've been navigating these waters for ten years now. I'm really good, I swear." 

 

Bakura finally looked away from his book, scrutinizing Marik thoroughly. 

 

"You're a young pirate, aren't you? How old are you?"

 

"Twenty-five." 

 

"So, fifteen. It must have been tough to command a ship all on your own. That's impressive. I had lived on the street without a family and had to fend for myself because of it. I suspect your story doesn't start with a ship, but much earlier and probably much more grotesque. If so, we might not be much different from each other." 

 

Marik's mouth opened, surprised at the attempt at connecting from the argumentive socialite. Bakura shook his head before Marik could think to speak. 

 

"You don't have to tell me what it might be. It was just an observation." 

 

"Oh." Marik cleared his throat again. He glanced toward the crates Bakura was sitting on and noticed the space left on them. "Can I sit down?"

 

Bakura raised his eyebrows.

 

"It's your ship. Do what you want."

 

Bakura moved over on the crates, leaving Marik the chance to sit on the one beside him. Marik did so, tentative and cautious. He leaned back on his hands and stared up at the lazy clouds, biting the inside of his cheek. 

 

"I was surprised to find a bookshelf in one of the empty rooms," Bakura said, his attention back on his book. "If you had any choice in what books were in there then you have surprisingly good taste. I've only heard of some of these. Travelling the world certainly does open yourself to better opportunities. I hadn't thought of it before." 

 

Marik was glad Bakura was leading this conversation. It made it easier on his frayed nerves. 

 

"I've read all of them at least once. Any book I've read and didn't like, I'd just sell. So, yeah, I guess the ones in there are my taste, but the books in my bedroom are my favourite."

 

"Hmmm." Bakura turned the page before looking toward Marik, brown eyes curious. "You should show them to me sometime." 

 

Marik didn't know why, but that made him flustered. It was probably because showing Bakura his books meant letting Bakura into his bedroom. 

 

"Um. S-Sure. That sounds great."

 

Bakura nodded. He then tilted his head back down to regard his book, eyes skidding silently over the words there. 

 

Marik didn't want to interrupt Bakura's reading any further and decided to stay quiet, taking in the sturdy warmth of another human a few spaces beside him. It really became apparent only now that Marik had been missing companionship; his mind slaves were just that, they held no warmth or human glow. Not to mention they were evil beings anyway; Marik had used them because they had used others for their own dirty work. They had been slave owners, the worst of the worst. Marik only took pleasure in detaining them to the life he and many others had possessed. It was his personal revenge. 

 

But they were not real in the way that Bakura was real. They didn't have a personality that Marik wanted to learn more about. Marik had never let anyone close in before, but he wanted to allow Bakura in.

 

Silence alone was stifling, but with Bakura it was nice, right even. It didn't feel like he should break the silence out of a wish to not be a part of it. 

 

Bakura, after an amount of time Marik didn't know of, suddenly closed his book, startling Marik out of his peaceful daze.

 

"It's a little bit past noon. Would you like to have lunch with me?"

 

Marik turned to look at Bakura and nodded with a smile. 

 

"Yeah. I'd like that."

 

* * *

 

Bakura knew how to perform civil conversation. Performance between people was common amongst low life and rich society alike. Playing the game to get ahead in life was something Bakura had become an expert in; pointing out details about people they didn't think he would recognize in them helped them believe in a close connection quicker than an average conversation might have. He could already feel Marik beginning to relax around him. Seducing him would be no problem at all if befriending him was this simple. 

 

It wasn't like he needed to lie in this scenario. Sure, he wasn't completely happy with Marik, but he didn't dislike him. This was just a way to speed up the process a little. If all went to plan, soon he'd be _really_ liking Marik. Then it wouldn't matter. 

 

"The food on this ship is better than I thought it would be. Is that just because we're all stocked up from last port?"

 

"Yes and no. We are stocked up, but I try to keep my meals varied too. A good meal makes a good day."

 

Bakura smiled slightly, twirling his fork in his mostly eaten dish. 

 

"I couldn't agree more. Still, I've never seen meat yet. Not even the bland salted kind. Why is that?" 

 

Marik winced, scrunching his nose up.  

 

"...I don't eat meat. That's why."

 

"Oh, no." Bakura shook his head in fake despair. "It seems we've come to yet another disagreement. You see, I love meat. I simply cannot live on here without it."

 

Marik pursed his lips thoughtfully. 

 

"I'll think about it."

 

Bakura smirked. He found it interesting that Marik was willing to accommodate him so readily. He tried something else. 

 

"Do you think I could change my room from the current one to the one with the bookshelf? I prefer that one."

 

Marik nodded while chewing. 

 

"There's not a mirror in that one though. Maybe I could bring it with me?"

 

Marik swallowed before speaking. 

 

"You'll have to get a screwdriver. It's screwed in."

 

"Okay. I'll do that. Tell your crew to find me one."

 

Marik didn't move to do so, but Bakura noticed a crew member slip away from the dining room. Bakura was deeply satisfied. He moved his plate aside and leaned on his elbows, staring at Marik.

 

"So, Marik, what types of things do you do for fun here? It can't be all work and no play. You read, of course, but there must be more. Tell me about them." 

 

Marik seemed to think that one over. 

 

"My mind slaves can play music. Sometimes I get them to play for me. Do you like music, Bakura?"

 

"Not particularly," Bakura answered honestly, "but I listen when I hear it. I've been to balls and stuffy parties and bars, typical places to hear music. It all sounds the same to me though."

 

Marik studied him a few seconds. Then he picked up again. 

 

"I'm a good shot. I like to practice on targets." 

 

"You know, you don't look like the type to use a gun. But then again, I don't look like the type to wield a knife expertly, do I?"

 

Marik shook his head. 

 

"Have you ever used that amulet of yours for a laugh? I feel like many jokes can occur with something like that."

 

"Well, I wouldn't say I haven't—"

 

"Which means you have." Bakura smirked silkily. "You naughty boy."

 

Marik tensed, face reddening. He cleared his throat, avoiding Bakura's probing gaze and taking a sip of his cup.

 

Bakura chortled. 

 

"You're far too innocent. I'd think you were a virgin."

 

Marik, who had looked like he was going to stop drinking, began to gulp it further down to avoid answering. It was answer enough though. 

 

"I wonder if you've ever thought to fish here. I feel like it's the perfect opportunity. But then again, you don't eat meat, do you?"

 

Marik looked relieved at the change in topic. He seized his drinking. 

 

"Fish is different. I don't mind that."

 

"Huh. Alright. I guess that's an okay alternative for now."

 

There was a brief lull in the conversation, something Bakura let happen. He moved his arms off the table and pulled his dish back to him to finish it, knowing Marik was looking at him but not bothering to ask why. 

 

"I, um. Ale. I have plenty of ale. If you want, we could have some of that later tonight. Maybe, um, put on some music."

 

Bakura slowly slid his eyes from his plate to the man in front of him, smiling warm and pleasant. 

 

_Bulls-eye._

 

"That does sound more fun than sitting myself in my room alone for the night. Have you ever danced with someone before? I could teach you how."

 

Marik nodded rapidly, cheeks noticeably red. How lovely. 

 

Bakura, now finished, swallowed down the rest of his water before pulling away from the table. He smiled down at the pirate. 

 

"Then I'll look forward to it. Excuse me, I'll be off to change my rooms. Thanks, by the way."

 

"N-No problem. I'll come to get you later." 

 

Bakura nodded. On his way out the door into the hallway, he was stopped by a crew member who held out the screwdriver. Bakura took it without comment.

 

* * *

 

"How old are you, Bakura?" The question came to him on his third mug of ale. He was lying on the crates again, staring up at the dark sky as stars twinkled down at him. A cool breeze brushed them, making the beige sails wave above them, the boat rocking softly and silently. There was no one but them. 

 

This set up was familiar to him. He'd done it a million times before. The company was the foreign part of this. He could see Bakura on the ground, back pressed into the crate and spinning his empty ale mug on the floor. Bakura did not make any movement to indicate he heard Marik, but his words were slower than average, accent thick in his throat. 

 

"Does it matter? We're both adults here. You must know that much."

 

"Yeah, but..." Marik shrugged and squinted. "I told you my age."

 

Bakura snorted. He picked up his mug and studied it.

 

"I don't have to give you information about myself just because you easily gave yours. Still, if you must absolutely know, I'm twenty-nine. Now, don't ask anymore questions."

 

Marik frowned. 

 

"How long were you on the streets? You made it sound like you just started living the high life."

 

Bakura tensed, then turned his head to glare up at Marik. 

 

"What did I just say?"

 

"Sorry."

 

Bakura scoffed, turning back around. 

 

"Whatever. I learned to live with others of my kind and then backstabbed them when the time came. We find ways to deal. You know that."

 

Marik was quiet for a long moment. It was true that Bakura didn't need to tell this to him. It was private. He shouldn't have said anything. It was unfair. 

 

Marik took a deep breath and sat up, turning so his legs were beside Bakura's head. He bit his lip in the silence. 

 

"I... was a slave. I was born into it. I had no choice but to suffer."

 

Bakura looked back up at him, expression neutral and non-judgemental. He reached out and gently padded Marik's black boot.

 

"No one ever has the choice."

 

Marik nodded slowly. He turned to fill up his mug from the barrel sitting beside them. As he was doing that, Bakura held out his own and Marik filled it as well. 

 

"It was hard," Marik continued softly. "My mom died so it was just me and the other slaves who took care of me. Then it was just me once I was old enough to be sold off to the highest bidder. I accidentally bumped into this woman one day and she gave me the amulet. I don't know why she did it. She only told me it would be useful. The rest is history after that. I freed myself and I've been freeing others ever since." 

 

Bakura was quiet. Marik wondered if he'd allowed himself to say too much.

 

"My mother died too. When I was five. I was far too young to survive the way I did, but I had to." Bakura paused, staring blankly ahead of him. "I guess we really did have as much in common as I previously thought."

 

"Yeah."

 

There was a lull and then suddenly Bakura was pushing himself up on the crate to sit beside Marik, a strange expression pinching his features. 

 

"You open up too quickly," he admonished. "I could have been lying and now you've told me something far too personal."

 

Marik raised an eyebrow. 

 

"But you weren't lying. Besides, how do you know I wasn't?"

 

"No." Bakura shook his head. "You speak far too honestly. The best you are at lying is playing into others expectations. It's the reason I believed you when you lied to me on how you captured me." 

 

Marik swallowed some ale, mulling that over.

 

"I still could be leaving something out. You expected me to have a sad past already."

 

Bakura smirked, leaning somewhat toward him, though he might have just been teetering from the ale. Marik hadn't been counting how many Bakura had had. He also didn't know Bakura's tolerance level.

 

"I'll take my chances on you supposedly thinking I'm worth the effort. You're strange, for a pirate as well as a man." He interrupted Marik when he went to protest, pressing a finger to Marik's lips and eyes flicking over him. "It's a good strange." 

 

Marik choked. He pulled away, feeling the heat on his face. Bakura chuckled uproariously. 

 

"How precious," he cooed playfully.

 

"I-I," Marik stuttered, glancing around. "L-Let me put on some music! Just wait one sec!"

 

Marik jumped off the crate, even though he only needed to direct his crew through his mind link with them. He just needed to get away for a few moments. Bakura had gotten too close.

 

He only turned back around to look at Bakura once the music from the crew had started. Bakura was staring up at him, cheeks ruby red and eyes bright. It made Marik nervous.

 

"What?"

 

"Oh, nothing," Bakura drawled. He tilted his head. "Do you want me to dance with you?"

 

"Well, I—"

 

"You have to ask for stuff like that."

 

Marik faltered, noticing Bakura was serious. He watched Bakura down the last of his mug before responding. 

 

"I'm not that great of a dancer. I never learned."

 

"I know," Bakura spoke, gazing past the edge of his mug. "That's why I'm telling you how to start."

 

"Oh." Well, that made sense. All he had to say was—

 

"Can you dance with me?"

 

Bakura smirked and nodded. He set his mug down next to Marik's and slid off the crate, stalking his way across the ship to meet Marik. 

 

"Of course. I'll lead."

 

Bakura grabbed one of Marik's hands and placed his other on Marik's hip. Marik let out a quick breath.

 

"Now, you put your free hand on my shoulder and then I'll take you through the footwork. Okay?"

 

Marik nodded eagerly, doing as he was told. They stumbled around for a couple of minutes as Bakura showed him where to put his feet. 

 

"If both sides trust their partner, they'll flow effortlessly across the floor. Let's start. The music will be our guide."

 

Marik stared down at his feet as they moved, still worried since he had just learned, but Bakura shook his head at him. 

 

"You stare at me, not our feet. Surely I'm way more appealing."

 

"You are," Marik admitted quietly, bringing his eyes reluctantly back to his dance partner. "Do you usually dance?"

 

"No. Not unless I have to. I find it boring."

 

Marik's expression grew confused. 

 

"Then why are you dancing with me?"

 

He didn't get an answer. Instead, Bakura suddenly dipped him. Since that move hadn't been taught yet Marik yelped, scrambling to get a better hold of Bakura. Bakura laughed at him.

 

"Just because I said you should trust your dance partner didn't mean I meant me."

 

Marik pouted but shrugged it off. Bakura pulled him back to a standing position and they moved again. The music filtering over them was soft and pleasant; it really became a part of their dancing. Marik found himself growing more confident. 

 

"Let me try," he said hopefully, after awhile of their quiet swaying and feet tapping. "I want to lead."

 

Bakura raised an eyebrow, but let his hand travel up Marik side to his shoulder. Marik placed his own on Bakura's hip and lead them through the moves again, only messing up a few times. Bakura looked impressed. 

 

"You're a quick learner," he observed. 

 

Marik's only answer was to dip Bakura, smirking when Bakura had a similar response to when he was dipped. Bakura clung onto him and glared petulantly. 

 

"You arse!"

 

Marik laughed. He pulled Bakura towards him, allowing their bodies to touch, and swayed them to the music, ignoring the dance moves all together now. Bakura let him, setting his other hand on Marik's other shoulder as Marik held his hips. He smiled with a mischievous edge to the action. 

 

"I don't think you ever had trouble dancing. I think you had trouble finding a partner."

 

"Yeah. That's true."

 

"Well, I'm here. I might as well fill any other requests you might have. Anything else you'd like to learn before I'm gone?"

 

Bakura's mischievous smile turned into a suggestive smirk. Marik bit his lip and shook his head. 

 

"N-No. I'm good. I can only learn so many things at once."

 

"I'm better at  _other things_ more than I am at dancing. Far more practice." 

 

Marik's throat felt tight and his swaying slowed to a stop. He stared at Bakura, at dark brown heavy eyes and playful lips curled up. Lips that appeared closer than they actually were, right?

 

"Marik?"

 

Marik stepped away. Bakura's arms fell back to his sides, his brows drawn in confusion. 

 

"What?" Bakura snapped defensively. 

 

Marik didn't know what to say. It felt like this was moving too fast. They had only met yesterday and—

 

"Do you still want to see my bookshelf?"

 

Bakura blinked a few slow moments before his shoulders relaxed. He smiled courteously. 

 

"I'd love to." 

 

He wasn't thinking anymore, was he?

 

* * *

 

Marik's bedroom was through a door in his office, something Bakura had mistakenly thought was a closet. The room was cozy, small and filled with personal possessions. Bakura felt a sense of someone actually living here which was much different from any of the other rooms in the ship. It was messy, but in a way that made it seem like everything was in the place Marik wanted them to be.

 

And on one of the far walls was a wooden bookcase, half-filled with books, the other weird trinkets. Bakura found himself more interested in the latter than the former, but that was his past life as a thief beginning to come to the surface. He eyed the gold sextant and jewelled encrusted box with uncontrolled interest. 

 

Marik cleared his throat, waving his hands uselessly toward the shelf. 

 

"Ta-da! Not too special but, um, here they are! Haha..."

 

Bakura smirked, something blossoming behind his rib cage. 

 

_He tries too hard to please me._

 

"I see you live a far more lavish life within your personal space than what you led me to suspect. I almost feel right at home again." 

 

Marik glanced at him awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. 

 

"Well, if you're into that, you won't find much of it here. Pirates don't keep most of their riches with them."

 

"Ah, yes." Bakura nodded in fake seriousness. "You hide them. Or more accurately, bury them beneath the ground, covering them in filth. Very productive." 

 

Marik scoffed, placing his hands on his hips. 

 

"That's way too easy a spot to hide! Us pirates have become much more creative than that! Give me some credit!" 

 

Bakura laughed. 

 

Marik frowned at him but glanced at the bookshelf thoughtfully. He then reached for a book and held it out to Bakura. Bakura stopped and looked at it, uncertain. 

 

"Here." Marik smiled softly. "Try this one. I think you'd really like it." 

 

Bakura scowled. 

 

"You don't know my taste!" Despite his words, Bakura took the book and studied the cover. It looked to be a drawing of the ocean, pirate boats sailing on its surface. He flipped it over to read the back. His shoulders began to relax and his heart squeezed.

 

"It's like a piece of my life in a book. There's a lot of fallacies regarding pirates, but this book is the closest to the real thing you can get. Well, besides actually living it." 

 

Bakura bit his lip. He set the book down, glancing at Marik behind his eyelashes. The pirate stared back. 

 

Bakura kissed him.

 

Marik froze, mouth slacking in a small gasp, but Bakura didn't push any further with it. He kept his lips closed and after a few breaths, pulled away. He smiled smugly at Marik's slack-jawed expression, reaching one hand to push his chin up and closing his mouth. 

 

"Sorry," Bakura said, shrugging, "I guess I got a little emotional."

 

Marik struggled for words, fists clenching nervously by his sides. Eventually, he grabbed Bakura's wrist, rough skin against Bakura's own. He stared. 

 

Then he pulled Bakura forward and pushed their lips together again, clumsy and unused. They were both tipsy, but that didn't stop Bakura's experience from seeping through. He grabbed at Marik's shirt with one hand, wrinkling it beneath his fingers, and kissed back hard enough to make Marik's body shake. This time he slipped his tongue passed noisy lips, working his way through Marik's flimsy defences. Marik moaned and pulled him even closer. A hand knotted in his hair, pulling slightly.

 

Bakura's hands slid over Marik's chest and shoulders, feeling the thick muscle underneath. An excitement began to stir in his gut and he moved to guide Marik to the bed. They stumbled, Marik falling on top of Bakura. Once in that position, Marik stared down at him dumbly. 

 

"We're drunk," he declared, like that would somehow break the magic spell falling over them. 

 

Bakura snorted.

 

"It's called liquid courage for a reason."

 

Marik only frowned. Bakura stared at him for a moment before reaching up to unbutton his own shirt, smirking at the way Marik's gaze snapped to the action instantly, his throat constricting noticeably. 

 

"Bakura..."

 

"If you expect me to stay put on this ship you best entertain me any way you can. I'm not nearly as grateful for your help as I let on and have no qualms about spitting in your face by forcing you however I may need to to dock. I have no reason to stay with a man who only helped me because I was  _pretty._ "

 

Marik grew nervous, fingers squeezing the blanket by Bakura's head. He shook his head. 

 

"Th-That's not true—"

 

"Is it?" Bakura asked, chest and stomach now fully exposed. "Then tell me with a straight face you weren't given a picture of me before you were sent to kidnap me. That it was not my appearance that set you on your course."

 

Marik hesitated, mouthing words that didn't make it to his vocal cords. After a few tries, he stopped, shoulders slumping forward. Cheeks grew rosy in embarrassment and what looked like shame. Bakura raised an eyebrow.

 

"You don't have to respond like that. I'm not upset." Bakura paused than started up again. "Well, I will be if you don't follow through with it."

 

Marik's expression was shocked. Had he forgotten already that Bakura had kissed him first? Bakura rolled his eyes. 

 

"I'm not going to force you to do anything with me, but I cannot help but feel you've led me on. I thought taking me away from my current life and settling me on the path of a pirate's was just your idea of seduction."

 

"I wasn't trying to seduce you, but..."

 

Bakura waited. Marik looked away and shrugged helplessly. 

 

"I've been alone for a long time. I don't know how I'm supposed to respond with stuff like this. Shouldn't I wait until I know you really well before doing anything? Or—"

 

"I want you to do it now. I certainly won't be here forever. Waiting too long will only have you miss your opportunity. Is that what you want?"

 

He didn't get a response for that. Instead, Marik brought his attention back down at him. There was something conflicting in his eyes. 

 

"I don't—I'm not—I have scars."

 

Bakura blinked. 

 

"What?"

 

"If you're interested because I look conventionally attractive, you'll be disappointed. It's not unheard of for slaves to be whipped for misbehaviour. I have the marks to prove it."

 

Bakura's nose scrunched, eyes narrowing critically. 

 

"Do you take me for someone with such high standards to be disgusted by such a thing? Being on the street has left me a mess myself. I fought to survive and I have the scars to prove I have. That is all that yours are to me. Surely that's beautiful in its own way." 

 

Marik's mouth was slightly open, energy vibrating beneath the surface of his skin. He blinked.

 

Then he lurched forward, surprising Bakura this time with a deeply passionate kiss. Bakura moaned softly, reaching his hands up to Marik's back and clinging to his shirt. 

 

Yeah, this was way better than sulking or taking over the ship for personal gain. The thought of manipulating Marik now seemed second to the sensation of Marik's lips and tongue. He moved his hands down to try and pull Marik's shirt from his trousers, succeeding and proceeding to slip his hands up the space under Marik's shirt. Marik made a small intake of breath but didn't stop him. 

 

When Bakura's hands moved up Marik's back, think and deep lines of different shapes and sizes slid under his palms. The skin was marred and wrecked from continuous mistreatment, brought from the evil of someone's hands. He wondered if Marik felt pain by it or if the nerves were completely dead to sensation. Marik was shivering from every touch though, back arching into the caresses gladly, so maybe it wasn't quite so simple. 

 

Marik's hands began to touch Bakura's bare skin now, oddly warm fingers sliding over his flat stomach and rib cage before leading further upward over his chest. Bakura bit at Marik's bottom lip as those fingers reached his nipples, startling them with Marik's boldness. They had puckered up with the cold air of the ship, sensitive to any ministrations. 

 

Bakura slipped one hand out from where it was previously to grip at Marik's hair as he pulled his lips away. Marik made a lost sound, dazed enough to thoughtlessly struggle to get back to the position he was before, but that broke off quickly enough when Bakura tilted Marik's head to give him excess to his neck and then latched his lips there. He sucked on the pulse, smirking smugly at the strangled moan that left Marik's lips. As he continued to do this, he struggled with his one hand to undo Marik's shirt buttons. 

 

Marik moved to replace Bakura's hand after some time, slipping the article of clothing off himself. Bakura popped his mouth off Marik as the pirate began pulling at his shirt too, his hands distractedly sliding over Marik's chest enough to make that difficult for Marik. Marik gave a small huff, batting Bakura's wandering hands away. Bakura only snickered. 

 

Eventually, the shirt was off and Marik spent a few moments staring. He averted his eyes. 

 

"...What do I do now?"

 

The question sounded reluctantly demure. Bakura sat up, leaning in until he had his lips against Marik's ear. 

 

" _Anything._ "

 

Marik shivered, breath escaping him slowly. He nodded, then carefully looked at Bakura, one of his hands gently gripping at Bakura's bare side. The hand was warm and reassuring; the last one something Bakura couldn't remember feeling before with someone. It made confusion blossom in his dazed from both alcohol and lust mind, but he managed to ignore it. 

 

"Do you have any suggestions?"

 

Bakura had a plethora of those, but his brain struggled to form a thought that could be useful for him to speak up. Marik was very very pretty but new and inexperienced. That was something to think about. They were opposite on that for now. 

 

"...You know the basics, right?"

 

Marik's brows furrowed thoughtfully, but he nodded his agreement. 

 

Bakura found it in himself to smirk, playful and seductive and coy.  

 

"Then oil us up and let's see how this goes." 

 

* * *

 

The most nerve-racking moment in Marik's life was the time before pulling the amulet out on his master and the horrible second of waiting for it to work or for him to be beaten and berated once more. 

 

The second most nerve-racking moment in his life was, before, the time he had very nearly drowned falling off the side of a boat and almost ruined the freedom he had been granted so kindly. 

 

He had a strong feeling that the second was going to become having his first time with Bakura because his heart hadn't stopped hammering in his chest since the moment this had started. He was still confused about why he had accepted this turn of events; maybe he thought this was a dream? It would make more sense than Marik simply wanting it as badly as Bakura did; that Bakura wanted it at all seemed oddly farfetched. He had seemed to hate Marik before.

 

But this wasn't hate. At least, this wasn't what Marik knew hate to be.

 

"You don't have to be shy," Bakura was saying, looking far too delectable splayed out as he was right now, a fully naked beauty on display. "I'm not particularly breakable." 

 

He didn't look it though. Bakura was without much muscle, squishy yet small and thin. It made him easy to blend in with the upper class; no wonder he had managed to trick and conquer their ranks as much as he had. He looked more than enough the part. 

 

It was the small white lines in his skin when looked at more closely that would ever give away his filthier past. 

 

"Here." Bakura slipped a finger inside himself like it was nothing to behold. If Marik hadn't been staring there for as long as he had, he might have thought the quick breaching impossible. 

 

"See? Like this. You try." Bakura slipped out and it broke Marik out of his trance. He moved his slick finger there, suddenly realizing Bakura's breaching of himself had been raw so maybe he really wasn't so delicate. Marik bit his lip at the strange heat swallowing his finger. He moved in and out as Bakura had shown him, pushing curiously at the walls and wondering how something bigger was supposed to fit in there. 

 

He knew from his reading material it was more than just a possibility, but reading about it wasn't the same as taking part in opening someone up. He figured patience was the greatest virtue to keep one from overstraining one's body, but Bakura's impatient huff made Marik rethink that belief enough to force another finger beside the other. He stretched them out and curled, circling them around in hopes of beating the internal muscles into submission. 

 

He might be doing it right. A third finger seemed about ready to join the other two now. It was as he was carefully slipping the third one in that his fingers pushed forward and twisted and Bakura moaned quite loudly, rolling his hips into Marik's busy hand. Marik looked up from his task, finally gaining the courage to look at Bakura. With Bakura's paler complexion, it made the colour red far more noticeable in comparison to Marik. Marik slowed his fingers, biting his lip at how lovely Bakura looked like that; a high blush staining his whole body, unfocused dark eyes and those thoughtless sounds Bakura was producing made Marik realize how aroused he was. He shifted uncomfortably, allowing his gaze to flick over Bakura endlessly. 

 

Bakura couldn't hide his own arousal; it was on full display, pre-cum sliding down the length of it. Like the rest of Bakura, it was pretty and pink. Marik had a strange desire to lick it. After some thought, he did so, bending down enough to run his tongue over the white dribble curiously, following its way back to where it came from. Bakura's voice pitched louder. 

 

"Marik," he moaned helplessly. 

 

Marik didn't know what he was doing, but he pushed his fingers further in Bakura while sucking the tip of Bakura's cock into his mouth. It was a good decision; Bakura moaned further, a hand slipping into his hair to guide him downward. Marik didn't know how much he could take, but Bakura only led him to the half-way mark, so he was left to decide that on his own. He took a little bit more in before setting some sort of pace with the thrust of fingers. It occurred to him as he did this and Bakura's noises and baseless compliments were all he was listening to that he was probably attempting to get Bakura off. That was what he was doing right now. 

 

It seemed to be working. Bakura tensed quite suddenly, enough to throw Marik off when his fingers got squeezed by contracting muscles. It was the only warning other than a sharp wet shout that anything was coming at all. Considering the situation, which Marik knew from experience he was never good at doing in the first place, he should have seen this ending with cum in his mouth and down his throat. Somehow it surprised him anyway. 

 

He pulled away, vaguely confused and cheeks full before he remembered that he could indeed swallow. Once that was over with, he regarded Bakura mildly. Bakura was smirking lazily. 

 

"You just did that to loosen me up quicker."

 

If that was the easy explanation for that, Marik was going to take it. He didn't think the alternative 'I just wanted to taste you' was something he was willing to admit to. 

 

Bakura was right though. The hole was now loose and slick; Marik's fingers slid right out effortlessly. It looked a lot bigger now with all the effort he put in. He supposed that meant he could try to put something bigger in it. He had been given permission to do so after all.

 

Bakura sat up and snatched the oil to pour in his hand. Then he nodded to Marik's pants. 

 

"Take them off."

 

Marik did. He was just a little desperate to get rid of them. Once he was fully naked, Bakura barely gave him time to adjust, beginning to pump his cock and spreading the oil over it. Marik took a sharp inhale through his nose. They were close enough to kiss and Marik led them into one. He would have asked Bakura if he could taste his own cum on Marik's tongue if he had the free mouth and half the mind to do so.

 

It took him a few extra seconds for him to realize he was being pushed against the bed now, Bakura hovering above him. Bakura's butt teased his cock by sliding over the head of it. He bit his lip and clung to Bakura's arms as they parted, staring wide-eyed up at Bakura, wondering where this was going. 

 

"You've done so well so far, but I'm going to take over for a little while, love. Okay?" Bakura's voice was low and heated, eyes half-lidded and smirk dirty. Marik wordlessly nodded, thinking he could pretty much allow Bakura anything at this point.  

 

Bakura lent down to kiss him deeply one more time. Then he leaned away and reached back to hold onto Marik's cock, lining himself up. It wasn't hard to understand what was going on, but for some reason Marik felt like a diagram explanation would have helped him. 

 

"B-Bakura—"

 

Bakura shushed him with a simple push downward, his cock slipping in much too quickly for someone who was experiencing this for the first time. Marik couldn't hide the long surprised moan that escaped him, eyes shutting tight and nails digging into the blanket subconsciously. Bakura didn't even try to be slow for his own benefit; one moment Marik had nothing surrounding him, the next Bakura was sitting innocently sheathed all the way. 

 

It was just a  _tad_ overwhelming. 

 

He had the strongest urge to cry, but instead he looked up at Bakura and wondered what expression might be on his face to make Bakura cackle like that. 

 

"Just between the two of us, darling, I feel less like the victim and more like the pursuer. You aren't going to give out on me so quickly, are you?"

 

Marik shook his head, if only because that sounded lame. He had done enough in his life to make coming too early sound absolutely ridiculous. He had to be stronger than that; he brushed death aside and took others lives in exchange for gold. 

 

Bakura smirked darkly, running his nails down the front of Marik's chest and stomach; it was strangely thrilling and pleasurable. It distracted him. 

 

"Good," Bakura purred. "I'm not here to wear you out too much. I'd like to try you on more than once."

 

Marik could only blink. He might be going numb with pleasure. 

 

(In a tiny recess of Marik's thoughts, he was almost happy that Bakura had gotten enough people pissed at him to bring him to Marik which had led them to this moment. What a frigging blessing in disguise.)

 

"Kill me," Marik blurted. It seemed like what he should be saying, though in hindsight he should probably be more specific to someone who could _literally_ kill him.  

 

Bakura's smirk warmed somehow like Marik had said something sweet or worth cooing over. It was ridiculous that any socialite had ever thought this man reformed. 

 

"I will," Bakura promised silkily. 

 

It was the last spoken words between them before Bakura started moving and scrambling Marik's brain into nothing. If this was death people really had nothing to worry about.

 

Bakura clearly knew exactly what to do. Marik could do nothing but watch the display, the steady bounce making everything in Marik jump up into it. He bit his lip hard to stifle the pointless noises that wanted to leave his mouth, but that didn't seem to be a problem for Bakura. Bakura had no filter; he moaned and sighed and whined and cried out when he found the right angle. His pink mouth was open, eyes closed and head tilted lazily to the side. 

 

He was beautiful.

 

This was a given. Marik knew this, had known this with every fibre in his being the moment he had laid eyes on Bakura's photo, but it had only been shown true once he had met Bakura face-to-face. It was bizarre that someone like Bakura, who had found the opportunity to be something greater than the underground, would find any interest in someone who hadn't even bothered to try retreating from it. 

 

Marik ran his hands over the curves of Bakura's legs. Bakura's skin was heated and sticky from sweat. He caressed Bakura's thighs and gripped his hips. Bakura's eyes fluttered open and he grinned, wide and striking. It was unfair how much that set off an explosion in Marik's chest. A stuttering moan that gave into a greater wave of sound started in Marik when Bakura suddenly sped up. It seemed pointless to hide his responses now; surely his appearance probably gave it all away anyway. 

 

With their experience levels, Marik was not particularly shocked when he began to lose the battle of keeping himself together. Bakura felt so good, but he also felt like _too_   _much;_ hot and soft and entirely too enthusiastic, running Marik's poor body into a workout and he wasn't even doing any of the work. Bakura was just that good. 

 

"B-Bakura..." he thought to warn, tightening his hold on Bakura's hips. Bakura moaned and reached one hand to cover Marik's. Marik blinked at the action, trying to make sense of it, but Bakura wasn't stopping for anything and Marik shook, coming hard enough to leave him speechless and dazed. He came to when cum hit his stomach from Bakura's eager hand on himself. He only had a few moments to realize that was what it was before Bakura had obscured his vision with a kiss. 

 

Marik's mouth was slow to cooperate, but his hands curled in Bakura's hair gently, musing over how silky soft it was; it was easy to slip fingers within wavy and bouncy strands. 

 

Bakura pulled away, but only far enough to be looking straight at him, expression lax and tame. He blinked blanky a few times before chuckling.

 

"You're not so bad."

 

Marik had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that.

 

* * *

 

Marik declared, quite abruptly, three days later that they were to reach a port sometime in a few days more. He had been giving Bakura quick and frantic looks like he expected something from him. Bakura, to spite him, barely commented on the ordeal, despite feeling very pleased over the turn of events. 

 

He hadn't even had to beg much; it seemed like Marik would give him what he wanted without much pull back. That was much appreciated. 

 

He was just a bit lost now though. Before, he had wanted to escape, but now he was somewhat reluctant to do so when the moment presented itself; it was hard to go forth with something like that when he enjoyed Marik's company enough to stay. 

 

What had even been the plan in the first place? Manipulating Marik to follow his will was clearly unneeded when the pirate was already more than capable of deciding to do so on his own. They would have docked eventually, with or without Bakura's interference. 

 

In fact, Bakura would go as far as to say his actions had only made Marik distracted. The younger man kept spacing out now, eyes trailing Bakura's every move, apparently finding him far more interesting than commanding a ship. Which, by and large, wasn't all that bad for Bakura's ego, but definitely a slight to his plans of leaving the ship.

 

Still, Marik was coming through so Bakura had nothing to complain about. 

 

So, he decided instead to brainstorm on something else, something that had been bothering him from the beginning. 

 

A pirate was not cheap, if they were anyone could hire them for cheap labour. The people Bakura had associated with during his childhood and young adult years were certainly not made of money. All money was lost as quickly as it was pawned for or stolen. They would not be able to pay the steep amount needed for a staged kidnapping, not to mention they would either have asked for specific demands instead of 'do whatever' or wanted him brought somewhere so they could personally dispose of him and make a spectacle out of it. He had met in knife battle a few disgruntled lowlifes annoyed by the backstabbing before, but none of them would have been desperate enough to waste their coins on a pirate just to delete him from existence; they had all tried and failed to do so themselves. It was their only option.

 

Which meant only one thing. Someone with money had wanted him gone and hadn't thought it out very well. Someone who wasn't used to doing the dirty work themselves. It seemed so obvious when he looked from this perspective, but he had forgotten that his old life wasn't the only place to find people who wanted him dead; his new life was riddled with snooty men and women who thought him an unworthy ingrate from the start. If anyone had the money and motivation, it would be them. 

 

A blind spot in his plan. A blind spot that was making this socialite life second rate to the one he was living right now. At least out at sea, he would never need to conform to the way society wished just to get ahead in life. 

 

Marik must not have known. Either the person hiring him had been a good actor or this was a double hire; the person Marik met had been hired to find someone else to do the kidnapping. The hired person might even have been someone else Bakura knew that had a vendetta against him as well. It made sense; why would a rich and uptight individual ever have the gall or the courage to step foot in as wild a place as somewhere a pirate would be? Plus, with two people in the way it would be harder to track down who was behind it all. He would have to find the person who hired Marik then try to get the name of the person who hired them. The person who had spoken to Marik was more than likely long gone, now with much heavier pockets. 

 

At least, that was what he had thought until Marik had poked him lightly in the shoulder and cleared his throat, looking nervous. 

 

"There's a reason we're going to land so quickly. I'm supposed to meet up with the man who hired me to pick up the loot he owes me. I was going to just skip it, but I thought..." He trailed off and shrugged his shoulder with a waning smile.

 

Bakura stared, mind working rapidly. 

 

"You want me to use this opportunity to do with him what I wish."

 

Marik nodded. 

 

Well, he could very well find out where all of this had stemmed from, destroy it all from the inside, maybe even use it as an example for others who might follow a similar plan. Then he could continue living his high-end lifestyle, as he had originally decided.  

 

But, if he were honest, there were other options. The only reason he had become part of this society was that he had been tired of fighting for his survival and getting nothing for it. He had done that his whole life almost and was somehow still doing it now; he had never truly left his grim past behind as much as he had thought. He had only put on a nice shirt. Was it really worth the trouble continuing to fight for something he didn't even want or belong in when there might be something better? There would always be more after this guy, no matter what Bakura did to combat them and Bakura wouldn't have cared if he wanted the life bad enough, but he didn't, not anymore. 

 

Bakura studied Marik then shook his head with a small smirk. 

 

"Take the money. You're obligated now to treat me when you come back."

 

Then he retreated back down to his bedroom, deciding it was high time he started in on that book Marik had lent him. It did look quite interesting, not to mention necessary. 

 

* * *

 

Marik took the money and the man's life. 

 

He didn't know exactly why he did it. Something in Marik had always been trigger happy for all the wrong reasons; he got no satisfaction out of snuffing out life or taking someone who may deserve it. He did like the way his gun fit in the palm of his hand though, but the sound was loud in the little alleyway, cold and damp morning air polluted with a disgusting stench Marik didn't know the cause of. The man fell, coughing up blood and wheezing pleas to someone who couldn't save him. It was sad in a way dropping your food on the ground was sad; unfortunate, but easy to deal with. 

 

Marik hadn't even let him speak. The moment his eyes had met the man in the alleyway and he knew who he was, Marik had shot him. The man was old and slow, so whatever he had learned in his time was useless to him now. He was an easy target. 

 

On the ground, slid across from the man's fingertips, lay a small chest with the money, blood beginning to pool out and stain its brown edges a pleasing red. It was easy to find the key and open it; coins spilled out the sides of it, staining themselves in blood, and Marik watched the display with detached interest. He didn't bother counting, it was enough. He'd give it all to Bakura. He deserved it after all this mess. 

 

Killing the man seemed like the best solution if Marik gave thought about it. Bakura didn't want anything to do with him and Marik doubted anyone had either. Maybe Marik was biased; he didn't like the fact this man had made it far too easy for Bakura to be hurt. Marik was happy to know Bakura, but not happy enough to forget this fact. It wasn't revenge, just clarification; a clean slate to finish the deal. Death was painless anyway once you couldn't feel anymore. 

 

He walked away, treasure clutched to his chest, to the final puffed out sounds of a dying man.

 

* * *

 

Bakura wanted to eat somewhere with real food, as he had put it. Marik had easily agreed. As much as he didn't mind the food on the ship, Bakura wasn't used to it and had been living the high life; the want for better food was a given. 

 

Bakura ordered something with lots of meat (it might have been only meat, but Marik couldn't tell) and then, once they were alone, eyed Marik carefully. Marik felt like Bakura could pick something out of him that others could not. 

 

An impressed glow lit behind Bakura's eyes and he purred. 

 

"You killed him."

 

Marik startled. He had no idea how that could be figured out by just looking at him; it wasn't like he had it printed on his forehead. 

 

His confusion must have been written there instead because Bakura chuckled, tilting his head inquisitively. 

 

"I'm well aware of what death looks like on people. Someone who's just killed has a certain air about them. Someone who's done so and doesn't care is even more exhilarating to me. Was there even a reason for you to kill him?"

 

No, there wasn't, at least not for him. There wasn't an explanation for his decision; he had done it all by instinct, as was typical of him. Flying by the seat of his pants was his way from the beginning. 

 

A pleased smile filtered over Bakura's face. 

 

"Of course not. You just felt like it. That's an explanation I'm fine with. Shag me when we get back on the ship, please."

 

Marik met Bakura's eager gaze, almost lost at the change in topic, but maybe it wasn't as much of a change as one might have thought. That excitement wasn't coming from nothing.  

 

Marik squirmed. They hadn't talked about what went on almost a week ago. Marik had been tight-lipped, uncertain if he was supposed to bring it up or if that was only a one-time thing he was supposed to be grateful for. Evidently, there was plenty of room for more. Bakura's current imploring nature told all. 

 

"So..." Marik turned his head away, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. "You're going to stay? With me, that is."

 

"Certainly. I thought the fact I declined to join you on your trip down an alleyway was telling enough. I don't have a chance where I was before. I don't know if you realized this yet, but that man was most likely hired by a socialite, meaning I've been compromised from the start. I don't feel like fighting that."

 

"Oh." Marik grew curious. "That would explain the extensive amount of gold I was offered." He then frowned. "I'm sorry, Bakura."

 

Bakura shrugged, unbothered. 

 

"I've changed my mind. It was never my place to start with. I've found a better place to mingle. I'm glad my life full of chances led me here instead of somewhere boring."

 

Marik swallowed as his throat closed up. That felt too close to Bakura saying he enjoyed Marik's company. If that was the case...

 

Before Marik could say something, their meals were set down in front of them. Bakura's meal really did have mostly meat. As they were eating, Marik made his answer known. 

 

"If that's what you want to do with me when we get back... I want that too."

 

Bakura smirked around his fork and reached out with his free hand to pat Marik's cheek as a response. Marik tried not to blush too hard. He was an adult and just killed a man after all. 

 

* * *

 

The sex felt celebratory as opposed to the first time Marik had been inside him. Bakura had just been desperate for some action and had wanted to take it to its rightful conclusion. This time he savoured the way Marik looked at him, nervously hopeful with every action performed, but eyes heated and teeth working their way into his bottom lip. Bakura had taken control that time, but this time Marik settled into the motion himself, experimental and curious. 

 

It was probably that curiosity that had flipped Bakura over onto his stomach and pulled up his legs until his butt was in the air and he was on his hands and knees. Marik squeezed at the cheeks within his palms, pulling the two apart. Heated breath skidded over his skin and he shivered, bumping his butt into Marik's hands further. Marik leaned closer, slow yet deliberate. A tongue slid meticulously over the hole before diving in deeper. 

 

Yes, giving Marik the chance to explore was a very good idea. Bakura moaned, surprised at how quick Marik could catch on. He rocked into the probing, grinding against the pleasurable intrusion. Pants and whines mixed in with moans.

 

"Marik, ahhh, nnn..."

 

The way Marik clung onto him was amazing too; Marik's fingers dug into his flesh, bruising the fair skin. He tightened his grip every few moments, massaging in a way that made it seem he was doing it for his own benefit more than Bakura's. He mouthed heavily, sucking and tongue thrusting, and Bakura found it harder than usual to deny his body release. There was something about Marik that made it easy to give in. 

 

Marik steadied him after his orgasm tried to topple him over. Hands smoothed over his skin and a kiss was pressed to one butt cheek before Marik slipped him onto his back. Marik's cheeks were red and eyes aglow; he seemed to have enjoyed that as much as Bakura had. Interesting. 

 

"Good?" Marik asked, settling in front of him. He wasn't wearing any clothes so his cock was on full display, needy and dripping pre-cum. Bakura eyed it, licking his lips. He nodded his head. 

 

"More." He felt like he needed to say that to convince Marik to continue. Then he changed his mind about letting Marik decide what to do and grabbed Marik's leaking member, running his fingers over the tip and spreading pre-cum over it. Marik shivered and closed his eyes briefly. 

 

" _Bakura._ "

 

Bakura stroked him slowly for a few moments before bending to suck Marik off. Unlike Marik, Bakura had no limit and took Marik in all the way even with his noticeably longer length. Marik actually yelped, scrambling to hold onto Bakura's shoulders and eventually giving into heavy moans, head falling back. 

 

Bakura prided himself on his talents and put them to good use, making Marik an utter mess of a man. Nails were digging into Bakura's shoulders, spurring him on, and he was pretty certain Marik was now staring intently at him, probably intrigued and definitely aroused at the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing around Bakura's deceptively small mouth. Eventually, Marik began to tense, moans growing a little strained, but the moment Marik was about to fall over that edge, Bakura pulled away and wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, an evil grin on his face. Marik stared blankly. Words escaped him. 

 

Then a frustrated growl from within Marik's chest made its way between them. Eyes narrowed slowly.

 

Bakura only smirked lazily and leaned back on his hands, widening his legs invitingly. 

 

"Shag me if you want to cum."

 

Marik did. He didn't bother with the same slow treatment as before where he had opened Bakura up, but he did wet his fingers with his saliva and slip them in to loosen Bakura as an alternative. Marik looked truly agitated and it made a steady heat blossom and set his cock into a painfully hard state. When Marik slid into Bakura, it was with relief. He took a few calming breaths, had the decency to check Bakura over first despite Bakura's less than stellar treatment of him, then began rocking in a beat Bakura rather enjoyed: rapid and unfocused. He hummed, pleased, and held onto Marik, wrapping his legs around him and moaning in added pleasure when the action set up the perfect angle for his prostate to be hit. With how hard Marik was hitting him, it would not be surprising if he managed to catch up fast to Marik's state. 

 

"Marik..." he moaned, clinging harder to Marik. "What did the man's face look like when you killed him? Was it anguish? Hate or betrayal? Did he scramble for his life till his dying breath?"

 

Marik's brows furrowed in confusion and uncertainty, but he didn't hesitate to respond, his irritation subsided by now. 

 

"I don't know," he admitted, hips grinding as he thought. "He was choking and wheezing when I left him. I didn't register anything past that." 

 

Which was a shame. Still, Bakura soldiered on, desperation colouring his tone. 

 

"Then make it up!! Certainly, you have ideas. Nasty ones."

 

Marik stared and for a moment Bakura figured his request was too bizarre during sex for Marik's liking, but then the pirate suddenly breathed in deeply and leaned down to look Bakura in the eyes. Something sharp and dark lurked beneath. It held Bakura's breath. 

 

"That man was old, probably thought he made it through it all and couldn't die by anything but old age. The sinking feeling of despair and panic that set in the moment my gun was drawn was only rival to the desperate hitch in his lungs where blood quickly poured out into them, drowning him where he stood."

 

Bakura shook, eyes wide before they rolled and he moaned out a soft, "Yessss..."

 

"He staggered," Marik breathed out, his own eyes quickly taking in every detail of Bakura. His thrusts into Bakura were slow and deliberate now, with a strong purpose and building greater desire between them. "Bitter hatred and copper spilled from his lips, staining himself in sin while I did nothing but watch, completely aware of what I had done. The slow suffocation made the man lose balance and he fell, a pained and useless moan for help lost on deaf ears. He struggled like a worm cut in half on the cobblestone. His struggles died down with every pained gasp, every hopeless crawl and still, I did nothing. I let him suffer." 

 

Something lurched in Bakura at that admittance and he rocked into Marik's thrusts, desperate for release. Marik looked desperate himself, his movements picking up once more. He licked his lips before speaking again. 

 

"He died there, cold and alone and in pain. An empty carcass of misery."

 

Bakura whimpered, hand curling around his cock to rub the last of himself out and came around the same time as Marik. He breathed heavily in the aftermath, Marik mouthing his neck in lazy kisses. Suddenly, Marik froze as everything he had just said started to catch up with him. His next breath inward was shaky. 

 

"...I don't think dirty talk is supposed to sound like that, Bakura."

 

Bakura sighed pleasantly and smiled, running his fingers through Marik's pretty blond hair. 

 

"You're the one who said it all, not me."

 

Marik was silent. He detached himself from Bakura and laid down beside him, biting his lip. Bakura curled up on his side facing Marik and Marik, after noticing the unsaid invitation, brought Bakura closer to him and wrapped Bakura up in his arms against his chest. Bakura couldn't see Marik this way so it was most likely the reason why the pirate was able to continue talking. 

 

"It was because I knew you would like it... mostly."

 

Bakura wondered if the same thought had come to Marik too. Did Marik kill that man as well mostly because he knew Bakura would like it? There was no way to know, but it was an interesting thought; one that Bakura liked quite a bit. 

 

* * *

 

Marik woke with an armful of Bakura, the man lying directly on top of him and, by the feeling of wetness on his shoulder, steadily drooling. Marik was gentle when he caressed Bakura's body, marvelling at how he'd never been in a position like this before. Sex was definitely nice, but if they could cuddle and stay the night in bed together, Marik would be just as happy. He nuzzled Bakura's fluffy hair and sighed. 

 

Bakura was dead weight though; it didn't look like he was going to wake up anytime soon and Marik had to pee. Extracting himself without bothering Bakura was an interesting test. He didn't fail, but Bakura snuffled irritably when he was left alone, pulling the blanket closer around his naked form. He stilled after that and Marik quietly left. 

 

Alone with his thoughts a good twenty minutes later, Marik tried to pick apart where this was going. He sat at his desk, biting his lip as he stared at the painting of Bakura, all pretty yet mischevious, exactly as Marik knew him to be. If he didn't know any better, he might have successfully courted someone, but he didn't know how that was possible. He didn't think he had done enough to earn that, never mind the fact his life wasn't exactly the type of life people wanted to spend time in. Marik couldn't explain why he liked it this way, he just did. It was better for him than any other alternatives. 

 

But Bakura had other alternatives. He chose to stay. Stay with Marik.

 

Marik wasn't so egotistical to think his penis could single-handedly change Bakura's mind, but it was after that Bakura had suddenly decided against leaving. Maybe he had started to like Marik, though that seemed just as untrue. 

 

Marik was so lost in thoughts about this for quite some time that he didn't notice Bakura had joined him until arms encircled his neck and a warm body leaned against his. A deep voice purred near his ear. 

 

"I knew you had a picture, but you kept it too? Planning something with it later, sweetheart?" 

 

Marik tried to pretend he didn't know what Bakura was insinuating, but he didn't try to hide the painting. Instead, he asked, "When was this done? You look very similar to this painting."

 

Bakura shrugged. Marik allowed himself to turn his head slightly to take the man in. His features were still soft and sleepy, but a smirk was tilting his lips up noticeably and his hair looked larger than usual from too much movement. At the moment, he reminded Marik of a cat, sharp and deadly yet fluffy and cute. Marik kept the observation to himself.

 

"When you're rich, you pay someone to paint you. I did it a year back, I think, but I got a few others done in that time. I don't know which is which. I was really just paying them to paint me because I could." 

 

Marik nodded, eyes falling back on the painting. He frowned slightly at the creases in the thick paper; the knowledge it had been folded up too many times and was beginning to show it. 

 

"You can have it," Bakura broke in, pulling hair away from one side of Marik's face and neck to better see him. "I certainly don't need it. Better you than anyone else. Though I am impressed, someone had to have stolen that from my own house and I didn't even notice. I must have folded it up like that myself and threw it in a drawer somewhere for me not to realize it. I apologize, I guess. I would have taken better care of it if I knew one day I'd meet someone like you who'd want it." 

 

Marik was just happy to get permission to keep it. That way he didn't feel guilty anymore. 

 

"Hey." Bakura pressed his lips to Marik's neck than pulled back. Marik looked up at him in surprise. "Have your goons make me breakfast. I'm starving."

 

"O-Okay." Then Marik glanced down Bakura's body, raising his eyebrows. "Um. Put on some clothes?"

 

Bakura snorted and pulled away. 

 

"That was said as a question. I'll treat it as such."

 

Bakura stalked away; Marik turned to watch his perky butt and long pale legs go. Then he brought his attention back to the carefully made painting. 

 

"I'm going to put you in a picture frame," he decided with a sharp nod. 

 

Even though things were confusing, letting it go at whatever pace it wanted to was probably for the best. 

 

* * *

 

Bakura recognized what was going on here. It had never happened to him before, but he had seen it in others; in the people who had managed to score someone they didn't hate at least. 

 

Domestic. This was what his relationship with Marik had begun to tick by as. It had been about a month now and Bakura had become accustomed to life on the ocean. It was better here because they were almost always alone together even when there were other men near them. The crew were husks of bone and fat, barely living, and that left only each other for company. 

 

He had grown to like Marik too fast. He should have seen this isolation making something like this occur, but it was also the fact neither of them had spent much time with any other person than themselves like this before. Attachment had to be easy for both of them with odds like this. 

 

Bakura loathed to categorize his feelings as what others would call love, but he had a soft spot in his heart that made him feel vulnerable, which had never occurred to him before. Usually, he had sex and then he left. He had never stayed around long enough to _feel._  

 

He didn't know what Marik might be thinking or feeling, but he figured it could be similar. Marik was a lot more obvious with his emotions and showcased them regularly. He suspected Marik may even think they were married with how _loving_ he was acting. But he couldn't even fault Marik for it because he was equally guilty for acting the same. 

 

Bakura didn't know how to function with this since it was not his way. So one night they were both in bed and Bakura rolled over and spat, "Why am I in your bed?"

 

Marik startled at that, both from the strange question and also since he was half asleep when it had been asked. 

 

"Ummm." He blinked. "Because we're sleeping?"

 

"Exactly. We're sleeping. I didn't even have sex with you tonight. Why am I here? I have a bedroom of my own downstairs."

 

Marik frowned, hurt seeping through the fuzzy daze of sleep. 

 

"If you don't want to be here—"

 

"I do want to be here! That's the bloody problem! Aren't you listening?" 

 

Marik moved to rub one of his eyes and squinted. 

 

"What? I don't get it."

 

Bakura sighed heavily. He mulled his options over, then relented.

 

"...I have strong feelings of affection for you. Do you feel the same?"

 

That finally woke Marik up. He perked up, smiling wide enough to make Bakura suspect it probably hurt. He looked like an excited dog wagging its tail. 

 

"I like you too, Bakura," he said simply, looking like he wanted to say a lot more, but was capable of controlling himself enough not to. 

 

'Like' was a very thin, useless word. Marik liked all sorts of things; Bakura didn't take kindly to the idea of being compared on the same level as them. He pushed for something more, knowing full well there was only one direction more could go in, but maybe he wanted it to be that, deep down. 

 

But as Bakura stared at Marik's innocent expression he started to see some of the cracks. Marik was equally as terrified of what was going on as Bakura, he was just better at shrugging it off than Bakura was. Where was the need for uncertainty and fear when both parties felt the same way?

 

"I love you."

 

It came out easy, shocking considering the last time he'd used them seriously had been at his dying mother's bedside, alone and scared and confused. 

 

Marik, Bakura suspected sadly, had never heard the words directed at him in his life. His eyes widened and his breath caught. 

 

"Remember to breathe," Bakura told him after what felt like too long, concerned. 

 

Marik nodded and did just that. He cupped Bakura's cheek and smiled again, this time softer and secretive between only them. His thumb rubbed circles into Bakura's cheekbone.  

 

"I love you too, Fluffy. I'm sorry I had to kidnap you for this to happen."

 

Bakura snorted. He wasn't particularly bothered about that; at this point, he thought it necessary. This whole ordeal had taught him his true priorities and it wasn't with snot-nosed rich people or dirty thieves, but it was with a pirate with an ambiguous moral compass just like his own.

 

"So you can sleep here always. You don't need a reason, okay?"

 

It sounded reasonable. It certainly made him lighter after everything was out like that. He didn't even feel too bothered that he was following a path he'd never been on before: love. Nothing was at all different now that it was said, they were the same as before. Which meant such feelings were there whether spoken or not; it really was useless to deny it.

 

Marik smiled and pulled his hand away, looking ready to fall asleep again, but Bakura wasn't finished and changed the subject with sudden vigorousness. He leaned up on one hand, a genuine smile creating dimples in his cheeks as he gazed down at the sleepy man beside him. 

 

"I didn't tell you, but I finished that book you lent me. You were right. I did like it, very much so. You didn't tell me it had a romantic subplot though."

 

"Oh." Marik blinked a few slow times. "Did you not want romance?"

 

Not likely. Despite thinking he had never wanted such a thing like romance in his own life, Bakura had always been a fan of the subject in his novels; in fact, it was one of his favourite genres, though he had always been quite embarrassed about that fact. That was because it would imply an innate vulnerability within his character that he didn't want others knowing about. 

 

Still, the fact the book had romance was not concerning to him; it was a bonus, not to mention most novels had them anyway. No, it was the type of romance that had caught his attention; it was the reason Bakura had grown aware of their situation in the first place.

 

"The pirate falls in love with a woman of high birth and instead of turning from him she decides to forsake her standing and run away with him. How bizarre. It certainly was a shock to me when I read it." 

 

Marik stared, thinking really hard. He then turned red and cleared his throat in embarrassment. 

 

"Uh, that wasn't my intention! It's just how the book goes..."

 

Bakura smirked, knowing well how easily flustered Marik could become when cornered. It was certainly cute. 

 

"I suppose the real world can sometimes be as bizarre as fiction. It's an interesting coincidence. It's not like you could plan this. I'm not blaming you for it."

 

Marik relaxed and bit his lip.

 

"I've read this book multiple times, but I've never entertained the idea of ever getting anything like the pirate in the book does. Still..." Marik trailed off than commented. " I guess it really is the closest thing to my life other than me living it."

 

"Indeed, but I'd rather be living it, don't you?"

 

Predictably, Marik nodded eagerly. Bakura smirked and leaned down to kiss the pirate before settling close to him and closing his eyes. 

 

It was different, all of this, but it wasn't bad. It would probably never be bad. He was... loving someone. For the first time since his mom's death, he felt like he really could. 

 

Marik curled his arm around Bakura and snuggled him closer. Then they both were content. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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